Murder 101

“I’ll see if my appraiser—better known as my son-in-law—can come down with me on Sunday. His place is closed so he’ll do me the favor for gratis. Well, not quite gratis. I’ve spent a fortune at his gallery … figure it benefits my grandchildren. Does Sunday work for you?”

“Sunday would be fine. I’ll give you my phone number and my partner’s phone number.” After he gave Sobel the digits, Decker said, “Feel free to call either one of us. In the meantime, I’ll make sure that the watchmen check the crypt lock during their work hours.”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Peter Decker.”

“Are you new? I don’t know you.”

“I came on the force about six months ago. Before that, I worked for LAPD.”

“LAPD.” A pause. “Have you ever worked an art case before or should I send in an expert in the field?”

“I was a lieutenant when I left LAPD. I ran a squad room of detectives so I’m familiar with every kind of crime imaginable, including art theft and forgery. But you can hire your own person as long as we communicate. I don’t have turf issues especially with something so specialized. You’re in Manhattan?”

“Yes.”

“So there are probably a lot of specialists in your parts. How about if we take it one step at a time?”

“I suppose that makes sense. What was your specialty?”

“As a lieutenant, I mostly supervised my detectives. I only worked the field if it was a very big and puzzling case. Before I was promoted, I was a homicide cop for twenty years.”

“Homicide! Let’s hope there’s no need for that!”

Decker smiled. “I agree.”

Sobel thanked him for calling and hung up. Decker gave the phone back to McAdams. They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they got to the house, Decker said, “Can’t say it was a hoot, but you showed some professionalism coming out with me in the cold.”

“Yeah, tell that to my frozen feet … and my frozen ears. I should have taken the car. If I come down with frostbite, I’m taking disability.”

Decker eyed him. “You know, McAdams, police forces are paramilitary organizations. Rule number one: no one wants to hear your bitching so suck it up. No guarantee they’ll like you any better, but when you don’t talk, you can’t get on people’s nerves. Do you want to come on Sunday? If you’ve got other plans, I can handle this alone. It might even be easier if I handle it alone. But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll be there. What time?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“So we have to wait by the phone twiddling our thumbs?”

“Remember what I said about sucking it up five seconds ago?”

McAdams sighed. Then he said, “Do you think the panels were stolen?”

“Ah … a work-related question. Good. I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

“So we have an art theft … and if Pellman said his key worked just a couple of days ago, it’s a recent art theft.”

Decker held up his hands. “Voilà!”

McAdams smiled. “I’ll see you on Sunday. Thank your wife for me.”

“This should be evident, but I never assume anything. You don’t talk about this to anyone. You should never talk about work, period.”

“No problem there, Old Man. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

It seemed like ages since Rina had to wait up for him to come home. In fact, it had only been months since Peter had retired and they had moved to Greenbury. She was fine with the move, but she suspected that Decker was less than thrilled. He didn’t talk about it and she hadn’t asked, but perhaps a taste of his old life would be a perfect lead-in.

When he walked through the door, Peter looked cold but not at all tired. His nose and cheeks were bright red. Rina got up from the couch and made two cups of tea in the kitchen using the hot water urn that she always set up before the Sabbath. When she returned, he was hanging up his jacket and scarf. He took off his gloves and hat. “Man, it’s good to get out of the cold.”

Rina set the hot tea on the coffee table. She was wearing thin pajamas. The radiator was spewing out puffs of hot air. “I finally understand saunas. You get hot, then cold, then the hot doesn’t feel so hot.” She fanned her face. “I’m ready to camp outside. I’m dying. Of course, it could be the M word.”

“Open a window.”

“I do. Then I get cold. No winning the war on hormones.”

Decker picked up his tea and sipped. “You look as young as the day I met you.”

“And you’re a smooth talker. You also have a gleam in your eye. Or is that an ice crystal? What’s the case, darling?”

“It wasn’t much but at least it was more than grabbing a cat from a tree.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I just told the kid not to talk about his cases with anyone.”

“I’m your wife. I have Fifth Amendment privileges.”

Decker smiled. “It’s nothing much. Could be an art theft of Tiffany panels. There are glass panels still up there but we don’t know if they’re the originals. They may be forgeries. The owner is coming up with an expert on Sunday to authenticate them.”

“I suppose the next question is, who would steal them? Who’d even know about them?”

“Excellent. Can you be my partner instead of the kid?”

“How’s the kid?”

“Obnoxious as usual.” Decker took another sip of tea. “Tonight, I did see a glimmer of curiosity.”

“Ah … maybe all he needed was a little real police work. He did go to Harvard.”

“His brain is not the problem. He needs a personality transplant.”

“He seemed polite enough when he was here. Anyway, it’s good to see you grumpy. That means you’re happy. Do you know anything about Tiffany?”

“Not much. What about you?”

“I think he used to have a studio upstate. I think it was dismantled, though.” Decker was quiet. Rina said, “What?”

“I think there’s a museum in Orlando … what’s it called? See that’s why we shouldn’t be talking about business on Shabbat. Now I can’t look it up and it’s killing me.”